


For Want of an Embrace

by cannibobble



Category: Record of Ragnarok (Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:55:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29912439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cannibobble/pseuds/cannibobble
Summary: Heracles and Jack meet on Earth while Jack is still a wide-eyed child, before he has succumbed to despair and become the infamous Ripper.A stitch in time saves nine. A chance encounter saves lives.
Relationships: Jack the Ripper (Record of Ragnarok) & Heracles (Record of Ragnarok)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	For Want of an Embrace

_ End of the 19th Century, London _

Ares scowled at the dirty cobblestone streets, kicking loose pebbles. “I don’t understand why we’re here. This is no place for you, Heracles.” He picked at his white waistcoat, which they each had donned to avoid attention.

“Nonsense! Earth is exactly where I belong!” Heracles gestured an arm to the bustling city-goers they walked among.

The crowd didn’t share his enthusiasm, glaring with downcast eyes at the god, who was as loud as he was freakishly large, though Heracles took no notice nor mind.

“Where else are the people?” he boomed.

Ares huffed, a noise as high and proud as the Olympian peaks on which they dwelled. He turned to the man, saying with no mirth, “You haven’t changed since the day we met.”

Heracles grinned at him. He considered it a compliment.

The two continued strolling down the street, the unobstructed sun—a rare occurrence in London—beaming on their heads.

* * *

Jack clung onto his mother. He brought his cheek to her chest and squinted, but no matter how close or hard, he could no longer see that brilliant color she had been. The last of it had pulsed away. She was as dull as the floor she laid limp across.

Still, he smiled. Her greyness was a lucrative trade for the purity she had held, brighter than an ouroboros of rainbow encircling the sun, a sight he had once seen priests hail as God’s ring—a promise to His children.

Jack leaned into his mother’s ear. “You’re welcome.”

He finally set her down. His eyes, dazed with euphoria, fell upon the newspaper she had held. The boy gingerly pried it from her hands, careful not to let the blood-soaked paper tear. He read the headline.

“Jack Smith,” he repeated softly. “Excuse me—Mister Jack Smith.” Mother always said the gentlemanly thing to do was to address a stranger by their title.

Jack shook his head and flipped the sheet over.

It listed the man’s address.

* * *

“Look at this, Ares!” Heracles held up a small wooden stick coated at one end with red powder. He dragged it across the palm of his hand. Fire sprouted from its head.

Ares nearly choked, eyes bulging.

“They call it a match! An old woman on the street sold it to me.” His laughter broke off when a slash of red entered his peripheral. He turned towards it.

There was a blood-splattered child stumbling into the manor across the street.

Heracles caught Ares’ arm, and the god followed his gaze.

* * *

Jack turned the doorknob, a difficult task while clutching his scalpel. He shuffled inside, crushing the velvet doormat as he crossed it.

The man sitting inside jumped up and staggered back into the wall. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“Are you Jack?” he asked, tone sweet and high with boyhood. “Mister Jack Smith?”

“Th-that’s right,” the man stammered. “A-and you must be one of my fans, right? You scared me.”

Jack continued striding forwards.

“Oh, perhaps you wanted money?” The man scrambled away. His words ran together. “In any case, just calm down! I have plenty of money. So please, just let me live!”

Jack broke out into a beam. “‘Men at some time are masters of their fates.’”

“Huh?” Confusion branched into his terrified color but didn’t nearly break it.

“Have you never heard that line? It is Shakespeare. It was written in the book you left behind.” The boy’s face collapsed. “Father.”

He slashed with his right, and the man fell to his left.

Red pooled from his neck, the lacquered planks letting it flee.

The man’s color was identical. Jack was certain of it even under the light bulbs of the mansion in place of the brothel’s dingy firelight. There were certain unforgettable things engraved by nature into a being’s soul through the necessity of evolution: breathing, eating, loving. This radiance must have been of the same instinct, for how could he live without it?

Jack stood still. He sighed with a true smile, regretting only its fleetingness. If he’d had a hat, he would’ve held it to his chest for its death.

“Do you need any help, boy? I saw you bleeding in the street.”

Jack’s head whipped towards the door. The two largest men he’d seen hulked underneath the frame, their unfashionably long heads of hair, one blond and the other flaming orange, catching the lamplight.

The man who had spoken spotted the carnage and gasped, taking a step towards him.

Jack rushed forward, adrenaline overflowing into the space of thought.

The other man easily snatched his scalpel, nearly wrenching Jack’s shoulder from its socket.

The boy howled.

“Ares!” the first man shouted.

The man—Ares—released Jack, who clambered away. “Heracles, this boy is a murderer!”

“That is uncertain,” Heracles rebuked, arms crossed.

“I am,” Jack gasped, hand holding his shoulder. “I killed my mother and just now I killed my father.”

The room became silent.

Heracles pursed his lips, stepping around the boy. He knelt beside the corpse. “He’s dead,” he said with disappointment.

Ares was enraged. “We must bring this child to the human authorities.”

Jack’s nose scrunched. Human? What other authorities were there?

“Not yet.” Heracles shook his head vehemently.

Ares’ eyes were alight, but he lowered his head. “As you wish.”

Heracles turned to the boy, still on his knees, the two at eye level. “Why have you killed your parents?”

Something in the man’s hopeful gaze piqued truth. “It was beautiful,” he said, eyes becoming wide and dreamy. “I’ve never seen such a beautiful color.”

Heracles furrowed his eyebrows, which were exotically thick. “The blood?”

“No, no.” He shook his head and pointed to his right eye, bright crimson unlike his left. “I see what people feel in colors. You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I do believe you,” Heracles assured him, leaning closer to the child. His broad face was graced with a small smile, surprising Jack. “You are blessed by the gods.”

The gods? Not God?

“Or cursed,” Ares spat.

Heracles glared at Ares. “Regardless, this boy was driven to murder by the gods’ bestowment. He is our responsibility.”

Jack remembered a book of Greek plays Mother had once given him. “You two are gods!”

“We are,” Heracles confirmed in his rumbling tambre. “Although, not many living humans have found out.”

Jack nodded, satisfied. He found himself apathetic to their status, slightly to his surprise. He supposed he had discovered something far more important that day.

Heracles grew somber as his eyes ran over him. “What is your name?”

“Jack.”

“Come.” He held out a hand. “You must be cleaned.”

Jack found no energy to deliberate a decision, neither accepting the hand nor fleeing. He stared at the outstretched limb.

Eventually, Heracles clasped his wrist himself.

Jack let the god lead him away, pausing them once to take his father’s pristine hat onto his own bloody head as they walked out the door.

* * *

Heracles took them to a hotel.

Jack had followed obediently, surprising Heracles. The boy must have been in shock.

Heracles strode over to the hostess’ table with wide steps befitting his legs. “Is there a bathing room here?”

The woman nodded.

“How much for one room?”

“Seventeen shillings for a day.”

Heracles fished into his pockets and threw a fistful of coins onto the wooden counter.

The woman handed Heracles a key. “Down the hall to the left.” She stored some of the coins away into a locked box and left the rest. “Your change, sir.”

Heracles shook his head. He didn’t miss how Jack stared confusedly at that. Heracles motioned with his hand, saying, “Come.”

Their room was easy to find. Heracles swung open its door. He grimaced.

The room was tiny, its few floorboards creaking with every step. The wooden walls were unsanded, and Heracles could feel splinters just from the sight. There were no amenities besides the one bed in the corner, likely because nothing more could fit. Unfortunately, this had been the only hotel he could find at the late hour. He hoped Jack wouldn’t find it too distasteful.

It would serve his purposes, however. Heracles opened another door on the left wall. He inspected the small bathtub and sink inside, deeming them sanitary enough. “Bathe in here. You’re covered in blood.”

Jack was looking elsewhere, but his attention snapped to Hercules. “I haven’t any clothes to change into.”

“I’ll find some from the hostess,” Heracles promised. “Take a bath in the meanwhile.”

* * *

Water could be hot.

Jack hadn’t known that, for all his reading and self-education.

He’d only ever felt the frigid bite of the River Thames or the stale drinking water of a barrel. Even in the summer, the water had always carried the risk of cold death, so showers were rare, much to the chagrin of passersby.

He ran his hand across the rim.

This was the longest he had bathed, and his first time in a real tub with such advanced technology as faucets and pipes. The white porcelain was a far cry from his usual moldy box. It was as smooth and slippery as it looked from shop windows.

Even the liquid itself seemed different. Logically, he knew it had always been that way; he’d been too rushed by jittery shivers to notice all but the cold’s sting. When he moved his fingers through it, the water clung onto his hand, dripping off like swift honey. Even when he sat still, it sloshed back and forth in waves, caressing the shore of his skin. It was for once welcoming, he realized.

His mother would’ve loved the luxury.

Jack smiled.

* * *

When Heracles finally returned to their room with clothing, Jack was already sitting on the bed with drenched hair, wrapped in a blanket of white linen. His hat was set on a protruding stake at the corner of the bed frame. He sneezed.

Ares sat on the floor beside him, paying no mind to the boy.

Jack sneezed again.

“Get dressed quickly,” Heracles said, “before you catch a cold.” He placed the folded shirt and pants on the bed.

Jack sniffled and did so underneath the blanket, making the cheap sheet rustle loudly.

“How do you feel?” Heracles finally asked.

He yawned. “Sleepy.”

Heracles’ unflinching gaze softened. “We can speak in the morning.” He was compelled to bring the blanket up to Jack’s neck and ruffle his pale hair. “Goodnight.”

Ares met his gaze as he turned, and motioned his head to the door.

Heracles nodded, and they went outside into the hall. He clicked the door shut, knob turned as to limit noise.

“What are you doing!” Ares exploded.

“Hush!” Heracles whispered sternly. “You will wake the entire inn.”

Ares fumed but lowered his voice. “What do you mean to do with that child?”

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “But I meant it when I said he was our responsibility. Without that ability, Jack might’ve lived a normal life.”

Ares sighed. “I will follow you no matter what you decide, but I must say I’m surprised. I thought you would’ve been the first to bring him to justice.”

“What justice?” Heracles said, voice rising. “Would you have him rot away in a jail cell? He’s just a boy, a quite average one from what I’ve seen.” Aside from the initial incident, the child had shown no signs of madness, gaping at sights with the exploratory delight of boyhood.

“Regardless of his appearance, he is still a killer!” Ares rebuked. “His lack of sadness is all the more worrying. He has no remorse.”

“Neither of us can accurately gauge a person’s true emotions”—unlike the boy—“so let’s wait until the morning to investigate the situation.” Heracles resolved loudly, “And rest assured, I will uphold justice.”

He walked back into the room, executively signalling the conversation’s end.

* * *

Jack rubbed his eyes, lifting away the last weights of sleepiness.

Heracles loomed over his bed. “Good morning.”

Jack glanced around, seeing Ares standing at the doorway, then looked up at Heracles. He conversed, “Good morning to you as well. Where did you two sleep?”

“We don’t need sleep.”

“Oh.” Jack hummed. He supposed that made good sense.

“How did you sleep?” the god asked in a genuine tone that matched his color’s intent.

Jack gave a wide smile. “I think it’s the best I’ve ever slept. This bed is comfortable. And this linen is so fine.” He rubbed his cheek against the cotton blanket, committing to memory its fluffiness. It was even softer than the stray dog he’d once found, unique in that it let Jack stroke its wagging tail, even licking his fingers down.

It bit him moments later, and Jack had wished for a way to split fur from teeth.

Heracles frowned. “Where do you live?”

“The building on 7th street.”

“I’m sure you must be eager to be home,” Heracles erroneously presumed.

Before Jack could correct him, his stomach rumbled.

“After breakfast,” Heracles amended.

Heracles watched Jack devour the rolls Ares brought back.

Mouth full, he mumbled, “Thank you, mister! I’ve never had white bread before. It’s as fluffy as I heard!”

“I’m glad you enjoy it,” Heracles murmured, staring at him.

Jack didn’t seem to notice the sad lilt of his tone, wiping his mouth of crumbs. “I’m finished, sir.”

The breadbasket was now empty.

Heracles stood with pursed lips. He commanded, “Lead the way.”

* * *

“This is it,” Jack announced.

Brothel, the building read.

Heracles’ eyes darted between Jack and his childhood home. It was no wonder he had been so shocked by the hotel.

“I will remain outside,” Ares said, face red.

Heracles glanced around, making sure there were no disguised gods. Loki would tease him for eternity. Bracing himself, Heracles put a foot through the door, hand easily encircling the boy’s forearm.

A bell rang.

“Are you new here, mister?” a soft voice breathed.

A blonde woman began to slouch on his arm and slip her fingers through his. He could feel the weight of her chest pressing on his bicep. He ripped himself away and thundered, “I’m not a customer!”

“Then what—” Her gaze fell downwards. “That’s Mary’s boy!” She turned away and rushed up the stairs. “Anne! Anne!”

Heracles straightened with relief. 

A brunette, who must have been Anne, came down moments later, gripping the guardrail. “Sorry, but I’m not taking customers today.” She moved off the last step, and finally looked up.

Heracles saw the moment she spotted Jack, half-hidden by his arm.

Her eyes, weighted down by dark crescents, widened. She rushed forward and picked him up with the ease of habit, burying her face into his hair. Her voice cracked as she said, “I looked everywhere for you.” Then she saw Heracles and set Jack down. “Say, go to my room while I sort things out.”

Jack frowned but scampered up the stairs.

Anne kneaded her forehead, eyes closed. “Thank you for bringing him here, Mister…”

“Heracles,” the god filled in with a warm tone, smiling after the sweet exchange.

“I can’t thank you enough,” she murmured in a sudden whisper, stepping towards him. “Is there anything I could do for you?”

“I would be greatly appreciative if you could answer some questions.”

“Are you sure?” Anne blinked rapidly at him. “I’ll do anything.”

Heracles put a hand to his chin. “Yes, that’s all.”

“Oh. Well, then.” She lowered herself onto one of the cushioned chairs behind her, and poured a cup of tea.

Heracles sat down as well, towering over her even then. He shifted in his seat, knees bent up from the floor. He said bluntly, “Jack killed his father. I found him at the scene of it.”

Anne froze. Then, she cackled, hand over her mouth.

Heracles managed to keep his face still.

“So he managed to off that cunt too!”

Heracles frowned. “Did you already know he killed his mother?”

“Listen,” Anne growled defensively. “As far as I’m concerned, those two were a match made by the Devil himself. Equally selfish, they were. That bastard was a regular patron here before he got too famous for it.”

“Was he cruel?”

“No, much worse: he was the opposite.” Anne’s hand tightened around the teacup. “He said all these sweet things to Mary, promising to marry her once he made it. Of course, he just had to get her pregnant. Jack was the one baby she ever kept, but it was only for his father.”

“I’m guessing he wasn’t a man of his word.”

“It’s easy to guess, isn’t it?” Anne smiled. “Not to Mary, I suppose. When she found out he got hitched to some noble woman, she completely changed. Started saying these awful things…” Anne didn’t need to finish.

The two sat in silence. Anne poured another cup, of which Heracles realized wasn’t tea.

* * *

Jack looked up from the bed, where he had waited patiently, upon hearing the creaking of the door. “Anne! Heracles!”

Anne smiled despite her exhausted color. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Jack.”

The two sat down on either of him.

“Anne told me about your parents,” Heracles said. His voice was much quieter than Jack had come to expect. “I understand why you hate them.”

Jack blinked. “But I love Mother more than anything in the world! She’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen!”

Heracles’ eyebrows furrowed. He was tinged with confusion.

“I killed her because I love her,” Jack clarified. “She became ugly, so I made her even more beautiful.” He felt his mouth twist into a smile. “The world is such a hideous place. I wish I could make everyone as brilliant as her.”

Anne wrapped an arm around him from behind. Jack could feel her shaking.

“It’s a noble thought,” Heracles said carefully.

* * *

Heracles said his goodbyes and took his leave.

Ares was where he had left him. “Have you decided what to do with the boy?”

“No,” Heracles said, lips pressed together. “I will come back next morning.” The boy was a risk, to himself and the public. If nothing else, Heracles could prevent physical harm. “I must help him. A perpetrator he may be, but so is he a victim.”

“Very well,” Ares resigned, inclining his head.

“Would you like to read?” Anne asked from behind him. “One of the men left behind a magazine I think you’d like.”

“No, thank you!” Jack said in a chipper voice, staring out the window with his forearms resting on the sill. It was nighttime, and the road was barren. A firefly landed on the glass pane, its blinking bulb only a shade oranger than the street lamps.

“Oh.” She tried again, “Do you want something to eat? Are you not feeling well?”

“Thank you, but I already ate. Also, haven’t I told you? I’m the happiest boy in the world, you know.” He watched Anne’s reflection cross her arms. “I simply don’t fancy doing anything right now.” All else seemed pale in comparison to the epiphany he’d seen. He found will for nothing but to replay the memory of that scene.

“That’s not very much like you,” Anne said, tone worried. “You’re always running around or buried in some book.”

The insect buzzed away. Jack looked to the clock on Anne’s wall. “Actually, I think I’ll go to bed.”

Her color broke into relief. “That’s a fine idea. You need your rest.” Anne reached over to the lamp’s chord. “You can stay with me tonight.”

“No, thank you,” Jack said politely, rising. “I’ll sleep in my own room.”

Anne jolted up, grabbing his wrist. “You can’t! It’s not clean yet.”

“That’s quite fine.” Jack pried himself from her grip, smiling. “I can clean it. It’s my own mess, afterall.”

Anne bit her lip, emitting the hue of fear, but let him leave.

Jack cracked open his mother’s door, and frowned. They had moved Mother, but her leavings were still splattered across the walls and floors, dyeing even the bedsheets an expensive crimson. It would take hours to scrub away the last chips of red.

Jack sighed and retrieved a mop that was taller than himself from the kitchen, walking softly as not to wake anyone, though he couldn’t help the creak of the stairs.

A butterknife hung over the counter.

Jack’s footsteps made it clatter onto the floor. He crouched to pick it up. Instead of returning it into a drawer, he found himself slipping it into his shirt pocket without thought. Its weight tugged at his shirt as he went back upstairs.

Jack dipped the mop’s white head of yarn into water and raked it across the floor. Red seeped up from the floor like pus from a wound infected by filth. A coppery scent wafted to Jack’s nose, stinging in its sharpness.

He was soon panting. His arms were sore from dragging the rod. He wiped his forehead of sweat, dirty again so soon after that bath.

Then, he began scrubbing the walls.

* * *

Heracles hit his fist against the door. “Anne?”

A muffled voice cried from inside, “It’s for you, Anne!”

Heracles heard footsteps approach, and the door swung open.

“Heracles,” Anne exclaimed. “I should’ve known it was you. Who else would come so early?”

“What? It’s nearly 1 P.M.”

“Exactly.” Anne snorted. “Quite early in this profession.”

“Ah.” Heracles quickly glanced away, clearing his throat. “Is Jack here?”

Anne shook her head. “He’s out on the streets. Poor boy deserves to play outside a bit. Been through a lot, he has.”

“He has,” Heracles quietly agreed before snapping back to attention. He thrust out his hand, which carried a lidded straw basket. “It’s food. It should be more than enough for you and him.”

“I can’t thank you enough, mister. We don’t get much food around here.” Anne took it with wide eyes, arms dipping from the weight. “How about you come inside? We can have some together.”

“That sounds fine,” Heracles said, following Anne inside. He tried to keep the pity from his face, knowing it would go unappreciated, and forced a smile.

They sat in the same seats as yesterday.

“How is Jack?” Heracles asked first.

Anne stiffened, pausing her spreading of jam over bread. “I have no idea. He says he’s perfectly fine but he can’t be, can he? It seems like he’s lost his spirit. He didn’t do anything but sleep after you left yesterday.”

“What did he like to do before?” Heracles was frowning.

“Well, we weren’t too close,” Anne said, “but whenever I saw him, he was usually reading or with his mother.”

Heracles nodded. “I see. I’ll bring some books by tomorrow.”

“You’re coming again?” Anne studied him. “Why?”

“I have a responsibility to Jack.”

“What of? I can’t imagine you being indebted to him.”

“Kinship. He’s a human, isn’t he?” Heracles paused. “What of you? You said the two of you weren’t close beforehand.”

Anne’s lip curled. “Kinship as well, I suppose. I was born at this whorehouse too.”

When Anne didn’t speak further, he rose. “Give Jack my salutations, Anne.”

* * *

“Jack!” a familiar voice bellowed.

Jack stopped in the street, head turning to the side. “Heracles.”

“I was just looking for you!” Heracles jogged over to him, a wide dog-like grin on his face. “I went all the way to the brothel.”

Jack quelled his surprise. “Oh, what for?”

Heracles shrugged. “No particular reason.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I was just taking a walk. I’ve never been in London before.” Heracles’ smile widened even further. “I’m sure you know some interesting sights.”

He answered politely, “The park is pretty at this time of year.”

“Then we should go,” Heracles resolved.

Jack nodded mildly, having no urge to refuse the intense god. He walked them through nearly-empty streets he’d seen countless times. Heracles was a much more intriguing sight. His head turned constantly, eyes wide and absorbing. Now, he was gazing up at the high buildings, whose each story overhung the last, with a perplexed expression

“It was built like that to save money on property fees,” Jack explained. “Each square foot of ground taken is taxed, so jettying allows the lowest floor to be the smallest while the upper ones are bigger.” He added, “I read it in a history book.”

“I don’t like it,” Heracles declared. “It looks fragile, as if the building will collapse on me at any moment. It makes me feel confined.”

Jack looked up. He supposed Heracles was right. The protruding layers of the buildings created the illusion of a toppling cake on both sides. They restricted the sky to a stripe filled by white clouds, thankfully unthreatening of rain.

“I assure you it’s safe,” Jack said, continuing to walk. “Have you really never seen London before?”

Heracles chuckled. “Is it really so unbelievable?”

“I would imagine you’ve had all the time in the world to sightsee.”

“I’ve only been alive for the last few thousand years!” Heracles objected.

Jack hummed. “I thought a god would have been born at the beginning of time or some sort.”

“I wasn’t born a god,” Heracles explained. “I was a human first.”

Jack’s nose scrunched. “How can a human become a god?”

“Ambrosia awakened my abilities.” A nostalgic half-smile came upon Heracles’ face. “I was quite small and weak before I drank it, even more so than average.”

Jack looked over to Heracles. “Now that’s unbelievable.”

Heracles only laughed.

They walked in content silence until Jack said, “Why haven’t I seen any other gods besides you and Ares?” Despite current preoccupations, Jack still held an ember of intellectual curiosity as well.

Heracles’ expression darkened. “Be glad for that. The gods are not all benevolent. Their absence is due to my bargain. In exchange for my loyalty and upholdance of justice, they swore not to harm humanity again.”

Jack cleared his throat, turning them around a corner. “We’re here.” He studied Heracles’ expression as they strolled.

The road beneath their feet turned into a familiar dirt walkway surrounded by walls of low hedges. Over them, he could see fields green with high blades of grass, interrupted by the occasional white tree trunk. A swing in the distance was huddled by children, the echoes of their laughter reaching the two’s ears.

Heracles was observing with his usual intensity. “It  _ is _ pretty.”

* * *

Heracles’ face lit up.

Jack followed his gaze, leading to a street vendor with a loud sign about fried pastries.

“Wait here, Jack!” Heracles shot up from the park bench they shared. He was already running into the distance before Jack could respond.

Jack stared at Heracles back as he waited in the unfortunately long line. The god was practically bouncing in impatience, peering over the shoulder of the next person.

A meaty hand grabbed Jack’s shoulder. He was whipped around.

“You!” the man above him snarled. “You’re the kid who’s been going through my dumpster.” He was the butcher a block from the brothel. Jack would recognize those hairy arms anywhere.

Jack blinked, feeling strangely calm.

“If you eat my food, you gotta pay like everyone else!”

“Why?” Jack found himself saying. “It would’ve rotted away anyways.”

That only enraged the man further, becoming uglier. “Come here!” He forced Jack to stand with a vice-like grip that squeezed his bones. “You owe me!”

Jack’s head cocked to the side, ignoring the pressure. “I don’t have any money, sir.”

“You’ll find some!”

“Or what?” Jack asked levelly, meeting his eyes.

“Come with me.” The man clenched harder and began dragging him away into a corner secluded by high shrubs.

Jack gladly followed, delighting with anticipation. The man had finally left an opening, looking away from him. It would be easy to close the distance to his neck before it ever turned. That hideous gradient, all too familiar, would soon invert.

Jack’s fingers twitched.

“It seems that I’ve found you.”

They both turned to the new voice.

Jack’s hand, halfway to his breast pocket, froze.

Heracles stood behind them holding a paper plate piled with sugar-covered treats, frowning. “You weren’t on the bench.”

The man grunted. “You know this kid? Are you paying off his debt?”

“I owe you nothing!” Jack broke out of his grip with a glare.

Heracles strode closer towards them. “Is something wrong?”

The man sneered at Heracles. “Your boy has been stealing from me—”

“From your waste bin!” Jack said.

The man glared at him before continuing. “I suspect he’s taken at least a dozen coins worth of meat.”

“Nothing in your entire shop is worth nearly that!”

Heracles’ eyes darted between them, hand on his hard-set jaw. “I don’t see why you would require compensation. The product he took would have been lost to you in any case.” He leaned in, towering over the butcher.

The man stumbled back, seething. “Just make sure your kid doesn’t come around my shop anymore.”

“Trust me,” Heracles said, gazing down at him, “you two won’t be meeting again.”

Jack watched with disappointment as the man speeded away, heightened heart rate lowering.

“What a hassle.” Heracles grinned startlingly easily. He held out a confection with his free hand, sugar dusting his nails. “Do you want one? It’s called a beignet. I suppose you already knew that, though.”

Jack sniffed it, finding the smell of flour. He tilted his head up and bit a corner off from Heracles’ hand, not wanting to dirty his own fingers with the white powder. He’d eaten the pastry once before when a client of Mother had brought a basket of treats to woo her. She declined without thought, an act Jack hadn’t understood at the time. Even now, he considered it ridiculous.

Heracles’ eyes widened slightly. He obligingly brought the pastry closer to Jack’s mouth, but Jack was still chewing and shook his head.

“Do you know that man’s name?” Heracles asked after he swallowed.

Jack shook his head. “What do you need it for?”

“Ah, I was hoping to file a police report. Rummaging through public waste bins is legal, and harassing people in a park”—Heracles chuckled—“is not.”

“Why?” Jack asked again. “Doesn’t a god have better things to do than worry about human affairs?”

“Nonsense! There isn’t a more just cause,” Heracles declared, eyes meeting his but looking somewhere far away. “Humanity deserves love.”

His flaring color made Jack freeze. It was a hue he’d seen in only one other.

* * *

They left the park when the sun began to yawn into the horizon, tinting the clouds with pink and making the sky whorl in orange and purple. An afternoon breeze had begun to stir.

“Careful!” Heracles’ arm shot out.

Jack tripped on the uneven cobblestone, which reflected yellow under the dusky light. His left hand caught him, hitting the ground with a slap.

Heracles hooked a hand underneath Jack’s arm and brought the kneeling boy up. “Watch where you’re going!”

Jack was staring at his hand, blood dripping down his fingers.

Heracles mentally cursed, restricting his language in the presence of a child. “Let me see that.” He took Jack’s hand into his palm, taking care to make his touch softer than his voice, and squinted. Luckily, the cut didn’t seem severe. “Let’s go back to the inn so I can bandage it.”

Jack only continued walking, nodding with unfocused eyes, He was distant as he’d been ever since the incident at the park.

“Are you alright, Jack?” Heracles asked carefully. “Was it that man?”

“Hmm?” Jack gave him a passing glance. “Oh, I’m perfectly well. I know how to handle situations of his sort.”

Heracles stared at Jack with anguish. He choked out, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“You,” he said truthfully. “What type of life acclimates someone as young as you to such things?”

“There’s no need to feel sorry.” 

From his side profile, Heracles saw a smile form on Jack’s face. 

“I’m so happy,” Jack continued. “I’ve witnessed such wonderful things. Nothing but that matters.”

“Not even your mother’s death?” Heracles tried with dread.

Jack seemed amused. “What wonderful things do you think I’m speaking of?”

“When she was alive, did she treat you well?” Heracles had already heard Anne’s account, but he needed the boy to confirm.

“She’s the best mother a person could ask for.” Jack’s eyes had taken that distracted, grandiose glaze again. “Even now, she still acts as my guide—a lighthouse to look for in the darkness.”

Heracles finally looked away. “I see. Truly, I do.”

* * *

“Hold out your hand,” Heracles ordered.

Perched on the hotel bed, Jack obliged.

Heracles took his strip of bandage, cut from a roll the hostess had given him with a blush, and wrapped it around Jack’s palm. His motions were sharp and efficient—practiced, Jack realized. “How does it feel?”

Jack inspected his hand. The bandage was tight enough to stop blood, but soft and flexible. “It’s comfortable.”

“It’s already dark outside,” Heracles commented. “Would you like to stay here tonight? I can tell Ares to inform Anne of it with my messenger bird.” Heracles chuckled. “I bet he would be glad for the task. He’ll die of boredom here otherwise.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “You can die?”

“Oh? Yes,” Heracles answered absentmindedly. He was looking out the window—for the fowl, Jack assumed.

“I think I will stay,” he eagerly said.

* * *

After Heracles bid him goodnight, Jack waited in the bed for what felt like hours, hoping feigned sleep would convince Heracles to relax his guard. He could scarcely wait, having imagined this moment ever since he’d recognized the god’s aura.

When the moon was high enough to shine into the room, Jack slipped the butterknife from his pocket and crawled to the end of the mattress.

Heracles was sitting with crossed legs at the foot of the bed, stupidly close.

Before the god could blink, Jack had the blade at his throat from above. Years of pickpocketing had served him well. He waited with a held breath for Heracles’ color to shatter into fear.

Heracles shook, but not from terror. He was laughing.

“Why aren’t you afraid?” Jack stuttered, confused.

“Are you pouting?” Heracles asked incredulously. “I wish I could see your face.”

Jack frowned.

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll answer your question if you answer mine afterwards.”

“Of course,” Jack swore. “I would never deny a dying request.”

Heracles chuckled infuriatingly. “I’m not afraid, because you can’t kill me. At least, not with that weapon. Gods can only be harmed by god-forged weapons.” As if to prove it, Heracles grasped the knife’s edge and tore it from Jack’s grip. His hand was unscratched.

Eyes wide, Jack let his arms fall. He had gravely miscalculated.

Heracles freely turned.

Their eyes finally met.

Amusement was playing across the god’s face like a wildfire. “For my part of the bargain, I want to hear why you tried to kill me.”

“It was nothing personal,” Jack said slowly. “It’s your color. It’s fortitudinous. It… would be beautiful when afraid.” He couldn’t keep the dreaminess from his tone even in these dire straits.

Heracles wasn’t disturbed like Jack expected, bearing a self-satisfied grin. “I suspected as much, but I appreciate the confirmation.”

“I accept my death,” Jack resigned, straightening with a wish for final dignity.

Heracles laughed again, even more heartily. “I’m not going to kill you!”

Jack flinched. “…Why not?”

Heracles was startlingly serious for a moment. “I want to save you.”

“I’m not the one who needs saving!” Jack balked. “I killed both my parents, remember?”

Heracles shrugged. “Death can’t be reversed. The direction of a life, however, can turn.”

Jack sneered. “Not very just of you, god, to let a murderer walk free.”

“For your entire life, you depended on your mother. Her care gave you purpose—justified your life and its darkness. When her love was revealed as false, you replaced it with the next brightest light—an easier alternative to her hatred: terror. In search of it, you’ve gone to equally great lengths.” Heracles’ eyes softened with pity. “You’re not a cold-blooded murderer. You’re a grieving boy.”

“What do you know?” Jack suddenly snarled. “I’ll take another life if you don’t take mine now!”

Heracles huffed.

“Really! That man from the park—if you hadn’t appeared, I would have slit his throat there and buried his corpse under the tulips!”

Heracles was unruffled. “Do you attempt to strike wrath because you have failed to frighten me? I can assure you, this attempt will be no more fruitful.”

Jack’s fist twisted the bedsheet, head bowed.

“Not all are as corruptible as your parents. I, for one, don’t change for anything.”

“You’re a liar,” he forced out through gritted teeth.

“That I haven’t slain you for your crimes should assure you of my grace. But if you require proof, simply look.” Heracles threaded his fingers through Jack’s hair and tugged.

Jack’s gaze was led upwards. He froze.

It was the most beautiful sight he had seen, like a moon outshining night-lit candles. The vision was blinding. Jack’s eyes practically had to adjust, as if he had gazed up at the sun after seeing its reflection in water. To trade that color for anything would be a loss.

“How is it—my color, that is?” Heracles asked.

“Lovely,” he breathed with wonder, the word breezing into his mind without thought.

“It will always be so. You need not hunt for it, nor anything else. No matter what, I will always love humanity.” Smiling, Heracles pulled him into an embrace. “That includes you.”

Jack nodded into Heracles’ shoulder, eyes shut. He already knew what he would see if they were open.


End file.
